Criminal Mind Criminals
by PopePrincess
Summary: An AU in which Hotch leads his pack of infamous criminals in a game of wits agaisnt FBI BAU profilers: Gibbs and his team. Slash pairing: Hotch/Reid. Explicit scenes of sex and violence. Major character death mentioned in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

In Which Gibbs' Team Of Profilers Evaluates Their UnSubs

…

This story was inspired the comment Hotch made in one of the earlier episodes, which was along the lines of, "And some people grow up to catch them." or something to that effect. And it made me think, what if they hadn't? What if the abuse and awfulness and misfortune in their lives hadn't led them to the BAU and FBI, but instead they'd become criminals? The abusers rather than the protectors? And the idea didn't fade like many others do; that plot bunny sunk its little pointy teeth into my brain and refused to let go. And when I started exploring the idea, mapping it out, coming up with possible plot devices and how the characters became baddies everything sort of fell into place.

I toyed with the idea of our good BAU members hunting the evil version of themselves but then figured that'd be difficult and possibly confusing with the same names. So here we have NCIS members filling in as the role of profilers in the BAU. I wanted to stick as much as possible to the TV show's characterisation and I hope I accomplished that.

…

…

"It's a large pack," announced Gibbs.

"Very large," said McGee, sounding surprised.

"How large is very large?" Ziva asked. She was the newest recruit and had the most to learn about profiling. She'd been brought into the team due to her ability to learn quickly and her expert combat skills. Hand to hand martial arts, gun fight, drunken brawl... you name it, she'd kick your ass at it. She was learning practical profiling on the job while taking night classes for the theory.

"Well usually when we say 'pack'," Tony said, "we mean three people, maybe in rare cases four. This looks like way more than that."

"How many?" asked Ziva.

"You tell me," said Gibbs.

Ziva raised an eyebrow. This was a test. "The people were taken unaware to begin with. So someone, maybe two, from this 'pack' served as a distraction."

"You mean a decoy," Gibbs informed her, matter-of-fact.

"Yes. That. 'Decoy'. Then at least two gunmen, in my opinion it would make most sense to have about three gunmen for this many people, came in and started shooting. Then there was someone driving the getaway car. And witnesses said they saw someone in the passenger seat." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, the curve of his lips impressed and amused while Ziva mentally calculated. "At least six people. Possibly seven or eight."

"That is a *lot*," said Tony. "That is like, woah. I've never heard of a pack functioning with that many members."

"That means there'll be a lot of conflict within the pack," Gibbs said.

"How do you figure?" asked David.

"Well groups such as this act on a hierarchy principle," McGee said in a rush to explain.

"Kinda like this team," DiNozzo pointed out.

"How do you figure that?" McGee glared at DiNozzo.

"Well we have Gibbs at the top. Probie at the bottom. We call that an 'omega'," Tony informed Ziva who nodded quickly, "You and me between that, with me coming in higher than you because of my experience in the field."

"Hey! Why am I at the bottom? I'm not the newest member anymore!"

"No, but Ziva would. Kick. Your. Ass. In a fight, Probie. So she comes in above you."

"Well what about Ducky and Abby?"

"Good question, Probie! They sorta exist outside the hierarchy but not really. They obviously come in under Gibbs, and on top of you, but you can't really compare them to me and Ziva due to our vastly different skill sets."

"Why above me?" asked McGee, resigned.

"They have a lot of much needed expertise and experience. Plus Gibbs has soft spot for both of them."

"I see," muttered Ziva. "That is... interesting. So the leader, or... Alba?"

"Alpha," corrected Tony. "Leave Jessica out of it."

"The feelings of the Alpha help define who is where in the hierarchy?"

Tony nodded, smiling, evidently pleased with himself at imparting such well received wisdom. McGee continued doing his little frown of Tony-irritation.

"But that's six people," McGee pointed out. "And we all work together fine."

"Because we all have separate desks or offices and we go home at the end of the day," said Gibbs from where he was actually doing something, collecting evidence. "If we were all together 24/7 the way we can assume this pack lives, and it was a matter of survival rather than just working together, all the tension and the structure of the hierarchy would be heightened. Could you imagine being okay at the bottom of the pile forever?" Gibbs asked McGee. McGee shooks his head, shooting an irritated glance at Tony, who had inevitably noticed the pretty young female ME who'd come with the LEOs, and gone over to flirt when Gibbs started talking. "Well, yeah, Tim, no-one would be. And with so many people in the tier below the Alpha, at some point at least one of them would challenge him for his authority and position."

"So... what will happen then?" Ziva asked.

"Now that we're onto them they'll probably start disposing of non-essential group members," McGee answered, pale faced. He had probably realised that in the existing comparison he would be labelled the least essential member of the NCIS team (unless they were including Palmer).

"Well why start killing so many people now? Have they always done this?"

"There will be what there was called a trigger," Gibbs told Ziva. "Something set them off a month ago when the killings started. They only used to kill when necessary if they ever did at all, but at this point, with so many people dead, they're doing it for either fun or revenge."

"Maybe both," said Tony as he returned, expression showing his unhappiness at being shot down by the ME girl, hard look daring someone to comment.

Ziva shivered. "So what was the trigger?"

"Well if we find that out, we find them," Gibbs said.

…

…

A short chapter to start off with and set the scene. Worry not faithful viewers, I am also working on Dynamics and my werewolf Criminal Minds fic. An update for this will be up soon. Reviews are a great source of motivation *wink wink, nudge nudge*.


	2. In Which Our Criminals Debrief

Ch 2

…

They arrived back at the apartment in a rush of adrenalin with various members covered in blood splatter.

"That was fun!" giggled Elle, jumping over the arm of the couch and falling onto the battered sofa in the living room. She had red smears over the front of her white shirt having been amongst the victims when Hotch, Derek and David had started shooting. She'd never gotten to play the distraction before. It was amazing; people gasping or grunting at the impact, screaming when people fell, yelling and squirming on the ground after they were shot. She'd gotten to finish some of them off, withdrawing a gun from her handbag and shooting point blank. Prodding and poking their bodies to see if they were still alive.

Now the stains were hidden as she lay on her chest on the couch, one arm trapped beneath her, the other dangling to the floor. It was only a two-seater and her knees had to bend against the arm, her calves sticking straight up. She waved her feet back and forth in the air like a child.

"Mmhmm," agreed Penelope, shrugging out of her jacket. It was army print but in purple and pink hues rather than green and brown. She tossed it over the back of the armchair she'd claimed as hers and then sat down.

That left the mattress against the opposite wall to the couch as the only spare space in the room. Hotch looked around the cramped, grimy apartment in distaste. They really did deserve better. He tugged at the cuffs on his shirt in agitation but let it go. Their heist had been successful and he should focus on that. They'd be moving soon. They could find somewhere nicer then.

This place had only the two bedrooms. Hotch had claimed the largest one. There hadn't even been a discussion. With Hotch as their leader and logician, he had to be well rested. Spencer was staying with him.

Rossi and Morgan as Hotch's second-in-commands had the second bedroom. Garcia and Greenaway were left with the mattress in the lounge. Most nights Garcia and Morgan cuddled and they had come to an understanding: on the nights Morgan spent with Garcia, they would share the mattress in the main room and Elle would get the second single bed in the second bedroom.

Elle hated being on the second lowest rung of the hierarchy: she thought she deserved to be a second-in-command. Rossi hadn't been with them anywhere near as long as she had. Who cared if he had more experience and notoriety amongst criminals for his weaponry and tactical skills? If something were to happen to Hotch, she deserved to be a contender for new leader. She was certainly as qualified as Morgan. And if she came at the bald man from behind… well... he'd be no competition at all.

She certainly deserved to be a step above *Reid*. Thin little pretty boy with his big eyes and cheekbones. Elle had tried to seduce Hotch to gain some social standing when she'd joined; she wasn't an idiot. She knew how these things worked. And hey, the man was hot. Tall dark and brooding. The perma-stubble and glare… she wasn't blind. The man was sexy. All that powerful intensity staring down at her while he was inside of her would have made for an earth-shattering climax.

Of course, Hotch was possibly the most screwed up of all of them. Elle wasn't sure he deserved to be. Millions of people had dead significant others and kids. Hell, hundreds of millions most likely. Life sucked. 'Ooh, my wife and kid were murdered and now I can't bear to have sex with another woman.' In case he desecrated his wife's memory or some shit. Of course, Hotch was straight. So sex only with women + abstinence from women should have made him an honourary virgin or priest or something. But then of course there was Reid with the pouting lips and mini-skirts and have-I-mentioned-I'm-a-slut attitude.

Elle figured the only way they fucked must be Reid face down, face pressed against the wall or into a pillow so Hotch didn't have to look at him. Hotch holding him down, Reid as good as gagged, Hotch not even acknowledging there was a person beneath him lest he realise it wasn't his beloved Haley.

No matter how awful the sex must be for Reid, it meant pretty boy- who couldn't possibly have the muscle mass to even handle a gun let alone aim it- got all the perks and rights of being the second most important member of the group. Elle chewed at her tongue and the inside of her cheeks as she felt her previous good humour fade. She pressed her face into the seat cushion so people wouldn't see. She needn't have bothered worrying.

"That was some good getaway driving, babygirl," Derek said, flicking a butterfly clip in her blonde hair as he walked behind her on his way to the kitchen.

"I think a witness saw us," Spencer said, hands in his front pockets of his loose jeans. The extra weight dipped them lower, exposing cutting hip bones and the hint of dark brown pubic hair. Elle felt her upper lip curl back in a snarl. "While we were waiting for you guys in the van," Reid continued.

"Oh really?" asked Hotch, coming up behind the younger man and putting his hands on Reid's hips, fingertips dipping beneath denim. "Did you see what he or she looked like?"

"Sorta."

"Penelope!" Aaron ordered, even as his hands came around to hug Spencer to him. "I want you to do a facial reconstruction with Spencer. We'll see if they tattled to the police. And if they did, we'll stop by to show our appreciation to them for being such a concerned, helpful citizen."

"What if they didn't tattle?" asked Spencer, leaning back against his Alpha's chest. He deliberately dropped his head back to rest on Hotch's shoulder so his neck was bared submissively. As he'd hoped Hotch gave him a quick, stinging bite to the side of his throat.

"Well then we'll stop by anyways," Hotch announced.

"So insatiable," Spencer giggled. "Blood…lust," he mouthed to himself, letting his eyes fall shut.

"He's right, Hotch," Derek said. "We've never killed so many people before. And never so close together."

"You complaining?" Hotch asked, eyes dark from where they shone over Reid's shoulder.

Derek shook his head and slowly smiled. "Not at all. Not after what happened. I want payback the same as everyone. I just don't want us burning out."

"Or getting caught," Elle said into the sofa cushion. Hotch's eyes flicked over her.

"We're not going to get caught," Hotch announced. Spencer sighed happily at the note of authority in his mate's voice and the possessive way Hotch clutched him to his chest as he said it. "Just do as I say and we'll be fine. Now you... you're coming with me," Hotch growled into Spencer's ear and dragged him by the waist towards the master bedroom.

"What about my facial reconstruction?" Penelope asked. She was the only one who could get away with questioning Hotch and not paying for it later. Probably because despite how incredibly valuable she was, she was the least intimidating.

"He'll remember. My boy's a genius. It can wait an hour," Hotch growled, pushing Spencer into the hall and room and shutting the door after him.

Penelope widened her eyes at the rude brush off but it was just habit. She'd been a part of the team long enough to know that Hotch was rude and abrasive to everybody. She shrugged around in her jacket to get comfortable but she felt like her insides were itchy and this inactivity was just making it worse.

They all had different reactions to the adrenalin high, but all of them enjoyed it.

Garcia knew that Elle liked the way she felt when she came down, sated and languid as if she'd just orgasmed. It made Spencer hyper and made Hotch aggressive and they worked off their mutual frustration on each other.

Similarly, Penelope got excited and would usually go out and find a willing man to work off the last of the high. Probably with chains and a whip. The chains were for him. The whip was hers to wield.

Derek liked to take a bottle of whiskey, lock himself in his room and drink. It was the only time he ever did. The rush after a successful mission- the only type their group knew (except for that one time)- was enough to suppress Derek's childhood memories and the reason he fit in so well with their little collection of psycho- and sociopaths. The endorphin lift let him push past those memories and enjoy a drink unburdened by memories of adults with no impulse control and the things they'd done to him as a child.

David would sometimes join Morgan and they'd sit in the silent darkness together, just sipping at their drinks. The empty bottles she saw collecting in their recycle bin whenever they stayed somewhere for a long period of time told Garcia her boy preferred whiskey. The morning after a successful heist always left Morgan grumpy and growling like a bad-tempered bear. The midst of a hangover was the time when his anger management problems went unchecked. You avoided him, if you wanted to live.

Other times David would go out with Penelope to find a man or woman, but in contrast to Penelope's interest, was looking for someone to have sweet, slow sex with. Garcia got to see firsthand the Italian-American rogue turn into a smooth-talking lady's man with moves Morgan could learn from.

One time, Rossi, suped up on the adrenalin and high from pulling off a mission, had made a pass at Penelope. It had seemed like a natural match at the time. Derek had quickly dissuaded him of that notion. It made her geeky little heart swell with affection to see Rossi's black eyes for several days after.

It may sound dysfunctional- hey, it was. But it was the way they worked.

Hotch was their leader. He arranged their plans- where they'd go, who they'd rob, how they'd get away. How much they'd take, how much man power, how much ammunition they'd need. And recently, how many lives they'd be taking. Short answer: as many as possible. In conjunction with Penelope and his two deputies he set out their path across the good ole USA. When they'd move and how long they'd stay. He was their leader and decision-maker and disciplinarian.

With the responsibility came the perks. He had first pick of his group members to have sex with (should he wish it), and had final say in whether any of his people were allowed a long term relationship with one another. Long term relationships outside of the group were expressly forbidden.

Gideon when he had been leader had slept around, favouring JJ when she'd been around, but also sleeping with Spencer, Penelope and Elle, and one time even Derek just to assert dominance. Derek had not liked that. You have no idea.

Gideon had been displaced by Hotch. Hotch had been invited into the group when Gideon met him at an AA meeting. Hotch had lost his wife and son in a brutal, bloody double murder and Gideon had sensed that Hotch would be welcoming to the lifestyle Gideon proposed. From there, they'd pulled in a young Spencer Reid through a similar method... they found him at an NA meeting. Elle was also AA –something she'd tried to bond with Hotch over (and failed). Derek was anger management.

Penelope was the exception. She'd been on the run from the police and had happened upon their current living quarters, mistaking it for a deserted hideout for her own purposes. Some quick thinking on her part had her pulling out her laptop and proving her skill in hacking to Gideon who'd seen her value. Rather than being killed the way other people had, she was invited in. Garcia knew sentimentality was no good when you lived nomadically, but she couldn't bear to part with that laptop.

JJ had been brought in rather a bit later, once the group was already formed. They'd held up a bank, one of their typical targets in those days before they'd established themselves, and rather than cower on the floor and beg for her life as the others did, she pulled out a pistol and shot her boyfriend in the temple.

"What'd you do that for?" Gideon asked, intrigued, gun aimed at her.

"Well, you know. I've wanted to do that for over a year, and I figure this way you guys'll get the blame," JJ had answered.

"What if we kill you?"

JJ shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll still have the satisfaction of knowing he's dead."

So Gideon hadn't killed her, but had every other patron of that bank branch there that day. Jennifer had quickly made a niche for herself in the group; suggesting possible places to hit up, where drugs and alcohol could be found, volunteering to go in first and cause a distraction or play the victim, whichever served their purpose best.

It was funny that they'd mostly been found in group help meetings, yet all of them now hedonistically enjoyed their favourite vices. Drugs, alcohol, violence, sex. Together they were a destructive force of nature, not just to others but to themselves also. As Garcia's delicious chocolate man had once said, "There's no point in being alive if you're not *living*."

…

…

Quick update because you guys have been so awesome :-) I hope you liked this chapter. It was an introduction for our CM AU!characters. I'm feeling unsure, so concrit would be massively appreciated. Things start to get rolling in the next few chapters and then everything goes WHAM when Emily shows up in about Chapter 7 :-)


	3. Elle Steals Some Candy

Elle Steals Some Candy

…

…

"Elle," called Hotch from the front of the store. "Elle!" The sirens were drawing closer. Hotch cursed under his breath, looking between the store and the van where the others waited, faces anxious and impatient. He seriously considered leaving Elle behind, but his conscience wouldn't let him. This was his family now. He hadn't been able to protect his last one, but this was his family. With all the flaws and arguments and annoyances that he couldn't just rid himself of because it would be convenient.

"Elle, get out here now or we're leaving without you," he shouted before striding towards the van. Just because he was loyal didn't mean he'd let the others be captured. He was a few metres from the car when Elle ran and caught up with him.

"What's all this?" he asked, referring to the containers and other things in her arms.

"Stuff. Lollies," she smiled breathlessly.

"We don't need any of that junk," he said angrily as he and she clamoured into the back of the van and the door was slid shut behind them. He continued talking over the grumble of the engine as Garcia sped them away. By which he meant she followed every road rule and was 5 km/hr under every speed limit. "You seriously almost compromised all of us for *candy*?" he growled.

They all quieted as sirens roared past them, screaming in their ears, Penelope's low chanting of "Please don't notice us, please don't notice us," an undercurrent to the higher pitches. They only started talking again when the sirens and attached police cars were fully behind them.

"It's fine," she said carelessly. "It's not like we got caught."

"But we. Could. Have. Been."

"Psh. I got turned around, jeesh. Calm down, *dad*," she snarked. Reid bristled. Apart from the obvious disrespect to his leader, he didn't like anyone apart from him calling Hotch dad. Or daddy.

"If you'd have properly obeyed instruction, this wouldn't have happened," Hotch said, tone annoyed. When it looked like she was going to argue he said, "We don't have time for this now. Shut up." Hotch sat back in his seat, spine impeccably straight. "When we get home we're discussing this further." A lull fell over the van. Everyone knew the implications of that statement.

"No, I- It's not like...! It wasn't that bad!"

"It was. You need to be punished for it. You need to learn there are consequences for your actions."

Elle was mulish all the way home, refusing to get out of the car when they arrived back at their cramped apartment.

"Get out, Elle," growled Hotch. Elle crossed her arms and turned her head. Hotch sighed and went inside. She had to come inside some time.

It was two hours later when she slunk inside, Hotch sitting with a newspaper on the couch in the front room. Morgan was reading in the armchair. Spencer was lying with his head on Hotch's thigh, staring at patterns in the ceiling. His blown pupils and wide eyes made it obvious he'd taken something recently. She averted eye contact with all of them, moving to the bathroom. She lingered in there for half an hour before coming back out.

She stood in front of Hotch, cocked a hip and said, "Well!?"

Hotch looked up and glared. In a sudden move, face twisting with rage he threw the newspaper to the side of the room. He remained sitting but Elle cowered in front of him. "I am the leader of this group for a reason!" he said, voice low and dangerous. "When I tell you to do something, you do it! Do you understand me?"

Elle looked up at the ceiling, jaw working as it became obvious she was holding back emotion. Her eyes were ringed red, unshed tears causing her eyes to glimmer. "So what, 20 lashes?"

Hotch snarled, standing and Elle took a few steps back. Spencer and Derek, who'd been sitting and staring quickly stood up and evacuated the room.

Hotch reached out and gripped Elle's upper arm in a crushing grip. She winced and let him drag her down the hall. She dug her heels in and started yowling when Hotch, rather than dragging her deeper into the cramped apartment to his room where he kept his… equipment, opened the hall closet. A raggedy mop and broom sat inside with a red bucket, provided with the rental of the apartment, and Elle screamed when Hotch started to shove her inside.

"Rossi!" snapped Hotch. He fought off Elle's scrabbling arms like tentacles, nails scratching his forearms where his white button shirt was rolled up. Rossi appeared a minute later from his room, blinking back sleepiness. His hair was ruffled in a way that indicated he'd been napping or resting.

"Hold her!" Hotch ordered. Between the two of them, they managed to get all of her limbs into the confined space and shove the door closed. Hotch slid the heavy-duty bolt into place on the lock, their addition to the apartment, to keep her secure. The door rattled in the frame as Elle pounded against it.

"GREENAWAY!" Hotch's voice changed to a hiss. "If you don't shut up, or one of the neighbours call the cops, I'm going to cut your fucking tongue out!"

Rossi's expression was smooth as he watched. Elle had deserved it, and she'd only made the situation worse by being stubborn.

"When it gets dark," Hotch told the older man, "take Morgan and dispose of the car. They'll have a shot of the plates." They shouldn't have done what they did. This was unplanned. Hotch had to take responsibility. He'd initiated it. Now they had to get rid of their van and steal a new one.

Rossi nodded, looked at his watch and went back into his room to continue his nap.

Hotch sighed and waited, listening to Elle whimper inside the closet. He'd let her out in a day or so, depending on when his anger had simmered down.

He was sighing when he walked into his room. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck, feeling the short bristles scratching against his palm. He took one look at Spencer's face and was sighing again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not now, Spencer."

Spencer rolled onto his front, long limbs spread out over the bedspread. "Usually you fuck me after missions."

"That wasn't a mission," Hotch said.

"We robbed the place. You shot that guy! Death and crime. Sounds like a mission to me."

"That asshole shouldn't have said anything about how you looked."

The bastard behind the counter had looked over Reid, with his make-up and nails painted, and made some snotty comment. Hotch couldn't remember the exact words. He just remembered the feeling of rage sluicing up his spine, clouding his head. His hand had reached into his suit pocket on instinct. The others had fallen into line quickly, nabbing the cash, and then they'd made a run for it.

Hotch sat heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip until he could feel the wooden plank at the side beneath his thighs.

"It's okay," Reid said, slithering onto his knees beside him and running his hands over Hotch's shoulders. "You took care of it." Hotch grit his teeth as Reid crawled onto his lap, thighs bracketing his, feet dangling off the edge of the bed.

Hotch shoved him to the side as Reid started kissing his lips and face.

"I'm not in the mood."

"So, what? You'll whip Emily but not me?"

Hotch stood and turned, sneering down at Reid who immediately quietened.

"Do you want to be whipped?"

Reid laid back, muscles going loose, eyes looking up at his leader, eyes wide and soft. "No daddy. I want to be a good boy."

Hotch made an angry, frustrated noise. "There was no whipping. She's in the closet."

Reid lost some of his composure at that. Reid had been in the closet before, and not in the metaphorical sense. It was a cramped space, and they'd be left in there for days sometimes, body contorting as gravity pulled you down without the space to lie or sit comfortably. Most places came with a closet or wardrobe, and they took the industrial bolt locks with them to each new place.

Reid shivered from his memories of past experiences. Gideon had had high expectations of him. When he failed… and that time he'd caught Hotch and Reid necking in the kitchen during the night… Reid could still remember the way light had felt after the door had been opened, body crumbling onto the carpet in the hall. The feeling of his waste staining his jeans, desensitized to the smell from the hours spent in cramped quarters with it, his throat and mouth so dry that swallowing drops of saliva hurt like acid against steel wool. Feet numb, ankles aching. Knots in the muscles all down his back and across his shoulders, eyelids heavy and itchy from exhaustion and crying.

Hotch had never put him in the closet, although there were times Reid had probably deserved it.

Hotch looked down at Reid as the boy snuggled up to his side, ducking his head and hiding his face in Hotch's shoulder. He hated himself for the blood flowing hot through him as he looked over the scared younger male.

"Shh," he whispered, dick pulsing against his underwear as it slowly stiffened and lengthened. He ran his hand through silky strands of Reid's hair. "Shh, baby boy."

"Daddy," Reid whimpered, head still ducked and Hotch groaned, feeling his anger and possessiveness from earlier rise up from his gut and constrict his chest. He pushed Reid back onto the bed, crawling over him, two hands encircling Reid's neck.

Spencer gasped and thrust upwards, Hotch's knee pressing threateningly against the boy's crotch letting him feel the other man's growing excitement. Hotch tightened the grip, Reid's breath catching, mouth gaping open, letting Hotch see the pink inside of his gums, the white dots of teeth and the muscle within undulating against empty air.

"Show me what a good boy you want to be," Hotch cooed.

…

…

Yay! An update! Don't worry, explicit slash scenes in the future. And more murder. And more Gibbs and his team. Another update soon hopefully.

Concrit and reviews are always appreciated and very much informative and motivating : )


	4. Sex Shop Robbery

Hotch was half asleep when he got the call.

"Who is this?" he growled into the phone.

"Uh, sorry sir," Garcia said hurriedly. "I didn't think you'd be sleeping. It's… it's 4 o'clock in the afternoon isn't it? OH!… were you… I bed? I mean, in bed but not sleeping? Because I am *so* sorry—"

"Penelope!" snapped Hotch. Reid's eyelashes fluttered at his tone. Hotch let his eyes run over the form beside him. Hotch had orgasmed and laid down for nap. Reid was still tied to the bed, vibrator on and buzzing faintly within him. Reid's eyes rolled in his skull, stopping to focus on him. His body was languid, pupils slightly uneven from whatever he'd taken before crawling into their bed. His bare arm at the inner elbow was a connect-the-dot of substance addiction.

Hotch held the phone away from his mouth. "Don't look at me like that young man," he hissed at Spencer. "You can come when you learn to do so without anything touching your cock."

A smile stretched Spencer's face before his eyes rolled away, too difficult to keep focus for long. His smile slid off his face, sloppy, arching his back and tugging at the silk ties around his wrists.

"….I promise I heard nothing."

"Stop that Penelope. Tell me what it is."

"Okay. So Morgan, Rossi and I were doing some retail therapy."

"Uh-huh. Skip to the interesting bit." Hotch slid his finger over Spencer's aching, leaking cock and licked it clean.

"Okay. So there was this guy. He was *so* cute! Please, Hotch, may we keep him?"

"What have I told you about pets?"

"But Hotch-!"

"No!" Hotch snapped. Spencer groaned in arousal at his anger. Messed up little bunny. "There are enough of us as it is. Moving six people is difficult enough. We don't need more dead weight."

"… Hotch." Hotch listened intently to Penelope breathing. "*Please.*"

Aaron sighed. "Penelope…"

"Hotch! When was the last time I asked for anything?"

Hotch thought it over. "You'd have to feed it and walk it and clean up after it. Every day."

"Sure, sure. Thank you Hotch! Uh, you're going to have to go get him. They have our faces on the security camera. But he's so pretty! Just wait til you see him!"

Hotch grunted. He'd seen Garcia's boyfriends/ prey before. They didn't exactly share a type. He ran a hand through Reid's sweat-slick hair as Reid vibrated, teeth clenched, like the toy within him. Not sharing a type was probably a good thing. Hotch could get quite, well, possessive was one word for it. Even if a massively understated one.

…

The profilers looked around the smashed-up shop. There were bright lights on in the ceiling and the yellow of street lamps outside causing the broken glass and plastic casing spread over the floor to glitter brightly.

"First the petrol station. Now a sex shop?"

"You believe our unSubs did this?" asked Ziva. "But why? I thought they were going to escalate? Why would they go back to robbing stores?"

"It's like poker," said Tony. "This isn't about ego or anything. They needed cash, fast. This was about playing stakes they knew they could win easy."

"So they were low on cash," said Gibbs. "What does that tell us?"

"Well, that there probably are a lot of them. It would be very expensive to keep them all," supplied Ziva. "This is the second place in so many weeks."

"They're either not good with money, spending beyond their means, or they *do* have self control but just don't care," said Tony. "Either way they're not thinking long term."

"Maybe they like money," said McGee and then shrugged. "Doesn't everyone?"

"It's most likely a combination of all three," said Gibbs. "I think you're right, DiNozzo." Tony smiled happily, smugness directed at David and McGee. "I don't think they're thinking long term."

"Suicide by cop, boss?" asked Tony.

"Maybe," said Gibbs, frowning, going to look behind the counter again.

"What's that?" Ziva asked.

"Ah, when the UnSubs don't think they have any way out but to kill themselves, but instead of doing it directly, they confront the police and force them to shoot them in self-defence," said Tim.

"Make the police do their dirty work," Ziva said, eyes wide. She nodded with understanding. "That is... that is. Well, it's something."

"Cowards," muttered Gibbs.

Ziva looked around and hesitated before speaking. "Gibbs. These UnSubs, they enjoy destruction. Senseless waste, yes?" She was referring to the dead bodies from the petrol station last week. The bystanders who had happened to be in the store. The employee of this sex store, Kevin Lynch, had handed over the money, then been coerced with the threat of force against a customer to accompany them to the van. They had shot the other two people in the store as they left with the money and the two hostages who were most likely dead by now. "Well. If it is as you believe, that they know they will be caught, will they not try for something a tad more," she waved her arms, "dramatic."

"Try to take others with them," said Tony. "Good thought. It's a possibility."

Gibbs nodded. "Yes. Yes it is. Well done Ziva David." Ziva turned her smirk on Tony who made a face and stuck out his tongue.

"Get a list of what items they took," Gibbs ordered DiNozzo.

"Probie, you heard him."

"No, DiNozzo, you. Now."

"On it boss," like it had been his idea.

"How much did they take, money-wise?" Gibbs asked the surrounding people.

A man stepped forwards. "We, uh, don't know yet."

"How so?"

"The man, working here, was taken… they took him. With them, I mean. When they left. So we're waiting for the owner to shop up to see."

"Why are we just hearing this?" Gibbs asked. Disbelief of the incompetency was like a heat wave directed at the bearer of bad news.

"Uhh…"

Gibbs glared until the officer wandered off.

"Well what's so special about Lynch?" McGee asked.

"They must have wanted something from him."

"Could they have taken him as a hostage?" asked Ziva

"Not their usual MO," said Tony.

"Low stakes, they wouldn't need one," McGee added.

"What could they want from him?"

"Look into Lynch," Gibbs ordered. "Go with an officer to his house. Figure out his schedule. See if he could have had interactions with our unSubs before."

…

"Isn't he precious?" Garcia asked ecstatically as Hotch and Morgan dragged Kevin Lynch into their apartment.

"Hmm."

"Not my type, baby girl."

Hotch dumped the stumbling, gagged and bound man onto the solo mattress on the lounge floor. Spencer followed them in, their balaclava's in his grip and a half-full bottle of clear liquid.

"Right," said Hotch. "Everybody start packing. We're moving to the next place tomorrow morning. I can feel the feds closing in."

Garcia knelt next to Lynch and stroked curly black hair. "Okay. This new place'll be great for us."

"What is it?" Elle asked, sulking in the small kitchen. She leant on the bench on her elbows, loose hair swinging around her face.

"It's a surprise," said Hotch gruffly.

"Good surprise or bad surprise?" Reid asked, clinging to Hotch's arm and pulling on it like an impatient child. If Elle wasn't still surly and Garcia and Rossi wouldn't have been too recognisable in conjunction with Morgan, Hotch wouldn't have taken him.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"It can't be much worse than this," and then he grimaced in the memory of the time they'd had to stay in some tunnels for the drainage system while Gideon was still in charge.

"Where's the loot?" Elle asked.

"In the boot of the car. We dumped it."

"What!?" snapped Garcia.

"It's cool, baby doll. I got ya." Morgan raised a backpack.

Garcia grinned. "Oh good." She pinched along the length of Kevin's ears. "I'm running low on supplies. I'd hate to have to delay puppy training for a bit because of it."

"Mhm." Hotch wasn't his usual self after the un-expected mission. He didn't like events not being planned out and organised and gone over several times. Garcia owed him. "Remember: tomorrow. Set for 10 o'clock. We're going." He slung an arm around Reid, half-supporting him. He glared at Elle to co-operate and behave and then left Garcia to her boy.

…

Kevin Lynch was a computer geek. Like Probie, Tony had been quick to smirk while they rifled through his things the next morning. He'd lived alone. With a cat. No girlfriend, parents lived several states away where he'd grown up. Lynch was actually one of their own, a federal employee albeit a basement dweller.

"We got nothing," DiNozzo said as they strode into the bullpen at about ten.

"We got this," said McGee, lifting Lynch's GPS from his car. "I'll get it to Abby."

Gibbs nodded.

"Hey Ziva…" Tony said. "Can you, uh, go check up with Ducky for me?"

"For what?"

"Just, umm, double check the bullet wounds. Shell casings. Make sure it's our unSubs."

"But…"

Tony raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"I'll go check with Ducky," Ziva said loudly for Gibbs' benefit, frowning at Tony.

"Boss," Tony muttered, trotting over to him. He leant over his boss's desk to talk to him. "Do you remember the stripper case?"

Gibbs blinked at him, removing his glasses and using his forefinger and thumb to rub at his eyes. Tony wondered if the man had gone home last night.

"Gibbs," Tony said excitedly, "the only reason they took the women was to keep them alive!"

Gibbs looked up at him and then he sharply drew in breath. "He might still be alive."

Tony winced. "Not in a good condition."

"You don't understand, Tony," grinned Gibbs. Tony stood straight up, shoulders back. If Gibbs was enthusiastic about something- something was happening. "This is the first possibility we've had to save a life. If you can convince the Director that they're keeping Lynch as a human chew-toy, this case gets bumped up to a higher priority."

Tony's eyes widened. "More resources."

"It's just a matter of time now."

"Sooner rather than later, hopefully," Tony said. "For Kevin Lynch's sake."

…

…

I have not abandoned this story! More chapters to follow soon :-)

Review if you'd like to. It would be much appreciated.


	5. Emily Prentiss: Functional Yet Feminine

Their new house was wonderful. Garcia loved it as she circles Kevin, staring at him adoringly. He couldn't tell, blindfolded, busy shivering where he knelt topless on the floor, flinching whenever she reached out a nail to stroke his face.

Everyone had a room to themselves. The place was three stories high in a nice suburb. It was on a hill but it was facing the wrong way to get a view of the lake. It was a nice place, big blocks with maintained lawns, but not gated. Penelope had found the house by searching through aeroplane ticket purchases from people in this town cross-referenced with mean annual income and a suburb background check.

Garcia blinked when she heard the doorbell ring. It was a lilting chime-like sound that reverberated through the house. Kevin's head lifted as if on instinct. It was so nice that he still had hope. Garcia threw down her flogger and quickly knelt behind him and tied the rope around his wrists to a ring in the floor so he couldn't move.

She poked he head out of the room on the first floor, looking around for the others or a hint of who it was.

Knock, knock.

Garcia eyebrows rose. The current tenants were overseas. "Someone order pizza?" she called through the house.

Hotch walked into the room, Rossi and Morgan following him. They had probably been discussing strategy in one of the guest bedrooms turned study. This was the first time Garcia could remember that they'd had so many bedrooms none of them had had to share, hence the spare guest bedroom. Typically they had to double up, sometimes triple up. Often someone wound up on the couch. It didn't really matter, since Reid and Hotch doubled up anyway unless Hotch was having nightmares, and Penelope and her handsome boytoy Derek were cuddle buddies most of the time.

Still, it was thrilling for Garcia to have the extravagance of choice when it came to rooming arrangements. She'd chosen the largest room on the third floor. It had a cream bedspread and gauzy curtains in front of French doors leading to a balcony. She would have literally fought someone for it. She's also commandeered a room on the first floor as Kevin's.

There was an actual study on the second floor, but Hotch had just resolutely shaken his head when Penelope had pointed it out. Wherever they were Hotch liked the tactics room to be on the ground floor. It wasn't a proper *thing* or anything, he just preferred it. Maybe because he spent most of his day in the room and it meant he was as close as possible to the front door, but who knew. Penelope figured; men are impossible to figure out even when they're not certifiable, so why bother.

Hotch shook his head in answer to Garcia's fast-food delivery question and drew his gun, the others following suit.

There were several possibilities of who this person could be. None of them particularly good. The homeowners of this fine establishment were on holiday. The aunt house-sitter was tied to a kitchen chair to slowly expire. The sadists of the group (Elle, Hotch, Rossi) liked to taunt her, eating in front of her, cutting her, laughing at her as she wet herself. She was gagged and bound, rope tight enough to cut off circulation. The chair she was tied to was set in the corner of the kitchen, around a wall and therefore out of the sight of the front door.

The knocker could be a random door-to-door salesmen or religious converter, in which case it would come down to how bored the group was as to whether they let them go or killed them then relocated. It could be a family friend or neighbour coming to check up with Aunt Lillian, in which case the group would kill them and then be forced to relocate. It could be a delivery or serviceman, in which case they'd play along and let them go unscathed because this house was actually really nice. It had *balconies*. Or it could potentially be some other variation of visitor whose fate was entirely in the hands of chance or luck as soon as someone answered that door.

"Reid," murmured Hotch, nudging his head at the door. Use of his last name meant business time. Spencer bookmarked the page he was on before setting down his book on the polished glass coffee table. He coughed, smoothed down his hair and the jeans he was wearing.

Knock, knock.

"Coming," Spencer called as he walked towards the door. The front door opened onto an entry hall, leading straight forward to a staircase. On both sides of the hall were open arches through which the more formal sitting room or more casual lounge, where Reid had been, were located. Further back into the house were the more functional rooms. This house was built for appearances and impressions. They all enjoyed being inside undeserved luxury, especially Garcia, because they felt with basic human ego that they deserved it, and they immediately hated the owners for having something they didn't and so took pleasure in using and desecrating the home while they stayed there. They'd leave the home damaged and burgled, possibly with Auntie's corpse strewn through the sitting and lounge room. So that when the homeowners came back from holiday they could gain a real appreciation for the open design of their house.

Spencer put his hand on the doorknob, looking back to the others for a quick check. Hotch and his two deputies were standing with their backs to the wall behind Reid so the person at the door wouldn't see them at first. Garcia came to stand a few metres back behind Reid's shoulder, deliberately highly visible. If it was someone with a nefarious purpose; a rival group, the police, angry neighbours, it was instinctive to withhold the full force of anger with a young lady in your sights looking directly at you.

At Hotch's nod, Reid casually opened the door. In the doorway stood a woman, early to mid-30's. Shiny black hair to her shoulders, a fringe, dark eyes that shimmered like liquid darkness. Thick splay of eyelashes and pouty lips painted a dark red-purple. Her turtleneck was maroon under a dark blazer with black pants, heeled boots.

"Can I help you?" asked Reid, using his quiet I'm-socially-awkward-around-people voice.

"Hi. Okay, so let me tell you why I'm here. I'm a friend, honest. I know who you lot are. And I want to join you."

Points for getting right to the point, but still, she knew who and where they were. Hotch stepped forward, aiming his gun steadily at her chest. "Get inside," he ordered. She held up her hands peacefully and nodded, stepping in onto gleaming marble.

"I'm not armed," she promised as Morgan did a full-body check for weapons. He pulled a knife out of a sheath at her inner right ankle. "Okay, so I'm a little armed. But can you blame a girl? I know what I'm walking into."

"Take your blazer off," Hotch ordered, voice as steady as his grip. She nodded and shrugged out of it. "Now your top." She opened her mouth, a half-laugh escaping.

"No, no, I get it. I'm new. I can't be trusted." She pulled her turtleneck off over her head and let it fall to the floor to join her blazer. She didn't even hesitate when Hotch ordered for her to remove her shoes and pants. "You know usually I make a man buy me dinner first," she quipped as she unbuckled her pants. Eventually she stood there in just her underwear, functional but feminine, black, with lace highlights. With a tilt of his head Hotch ordered Reid forward to card his hands through her hair, coming away empty. "As you can see, I'm not cop." It was true there wasn't a wire in sight.

"Then who are you?" demanded Hotch.

"I'm Emily Prentiss-"

"How did you know how to find us?"

"I'm a fan of yours. I've been tracking-"

"Does anyone else know where we are? Any other 'fans'?"

"I don't think so-"

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here and/or why?"

"No," she sighed. Hotch lowered his weapon a few inches, which for him was basically donning a Hawaiian shirt and sandals.

"Explain yourself."

"My name is Emily. I'm- I'm like you. I found out about you guys a while back, a few months ago. I realised even before the police did that you're a group of socio- and psycho-paths travelling the country."

"So why did you come here?"

"I want to join you," she insisted. Hotch scoffed. "No, really. I. I'm like you. Like I said, I want to join. Want to travel, help." She bit her lower lip for a second. "Kill. I want to become a member of your team and learn from you. Please."

"She seems legit," Morgan commented. Hotch took his eyes and gun off of her seeing as she was undressed and still had her hands up with Morgan pointing his gun at her. He turned to look at Rossi for his opinion. Rossi shrugged. Hotch raised an eyebrow at him. David was one of the, no, *the* most cynical and jaded member of their group, and seeing as they were all serial killers, that was saying something. By this point Aaron would have expected Rossi to have exploded in rage at how suicidal it was bringing a stranger into their home.

Hotch looked back to Emily and looked her over, trying to see her from a healthy heterosexual male's point of view. Hotch had never been able to look at another woman since the death of his wife, touching another woman felt wrong, made him feel filthy with the guilt. Reid in drag was as closest to being with another woman Aaron was willing to get for the foreseeable future. But David... yeah, if Hotch tilted his head as he ran his eyes up and down her body. If he was able to be into that sort of thing, he would most definitely be into this woman.

He looked quickly to Reid for his opinion but Spencer had clearly seen Hotch's appraisal of Emily and taken it for something it wasn't. Reid was glaring at Emily, arms crossed in front of his chest, biting a thumbnail. He'd be sure to reassure his younger lover later.

Hotch looked up and met Emily's gaze. She too had noticed his earlier once-over and gave him a flirtatious smirk. "You want to be like us?" She nodded eagerly. "Prove it," he said.


	6. Pizza Boy Initiation Test

Emily was tied up in the lounge. She'd been allowed to put her clothes back on once Garcia had done a sweep for surveillance bugs. It didn't change the fact she might still be an undercover cop. She hadn't been allowed to keep the knife and it was very unlikely she'd ever get it back. Morgan's catchphrase was 'finders, keepers', especially concerning any unchained items in the fridge.

The rest of them were in the sitting room so they could still watch her but she couldn't hear them. Aaron had put on David on lookout, figuring he'd appreciate the job. He stood and watched an unflustered Emily while the others crowded around on delicate loveseats and matching armchairs.

"Garcia, I need you to run a name: Emily Prentiss. Tell me what you find."

"Already on it," said Penelope, flipping open her laptop and clicking furiously away.

"Who is she?" Greenaway asked.

"She claims to be a fan of ours. Says she wants to join up," Morgan explained.

Elle raised an eyebrow. "Could be a good move. We have a space to fill, after JJ-"

"We do *not* mention that," Hotch thundered. Spencer snuggled deeper into his side at an attempt at mutual comfort. It was a sign that Reid was feeling insecure that he'd chosen to sit basically on top of Hotch in his armchair rather than on one of the large spaces on the couch. Although partly it was the fact after growing up with a less than stellar childhood, now that he'd been introduced to physical affection he craved it. Aaron put a hand on Reid's bony hip, sliding up under the thin tank top the younger man was wearing so it rested against familiar smooth, warm skin. Spencer melted completely against him and Hotch felt his chest expand a little in pride at having such a gorgeous, willing boy all of his own. He quenched the feeling, wary of abusing his power over the group the same way Gideon had.

"I don't think we can just let her go, even if we don't want to keep her," Rossi commented over his shoulder.

"Hmm," agreed Hotch. "Any suggestions?"

"We could have her torture and kill somebody," Reid suggested. "That way we'd have dirt on her. And we'd know she wasn't an undercover cop."

"She did say she wanted to learn," Morgan commented.

Hotch mulled it over for a second before nodding.

"So what's happening?" asked Elle.

"We'll order a pizza, keep the delivery boy. Give Emily Prentiss some instruction on how to properly eviscerate someone. And depending on how well she does, we may have an opening or we may not."

"You've already made a decision," murmured Reid into Hotch's five o'clock shadow, secret-like.

"No," said Aaron but it was playful, teasing.

Reid stood up. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'm going to go change. Tonight, the role of vulnerable helpless damsel in distress shall be played by Dr Spencer Reid."

"We're not doing it for an hour or so," Aaron called after him.

"Reaching my level of ethereal perfection takes time," Reid called back as he strode towards the stairs.

"Where do you want me to order to?" Morgan asked.

"Take..." Hotch looked around. Penelope was working on her laptop, compiling data about the still as yet mysterious woman in the other room. Soon however they'd know everything about her, where she went to school, her parents, where she worked, when she'd learnt to walk and talk as a toddler, and whether or not she had regular bowel movements. Garcia was an unstoppable force of nature with technology. Hotch knew that despite her mild-mannered, eccentric and eclectic appearance, she was quite possibly one of the most dangerous of them. She'd hesitate to shoot you but she'd have your name legally changed to Michael Hunt by the end of the day and frozen every penny you'd every earned or could possibly earn in your savings and credit account.

Rossi was busy looking at Prentiss like he wanted to strip her down to her underwear again, Reid was busy, and that left... "Take Elle and canvas the local neighbourhood. Find me a street address a good few streets away, somewhere with no lights on once it hits dark." It was nearing twilight now at 5:30. By the time Morgan and Greenaway got back it'd be dark and time to put their plan into action.

Hotch was going back to the tactics room. He had to figure out where there next step was from here. And he wanted to establish a few more safe houses. Which meant more money were needed and fake identities. He'd have to get Garcia on that. Maybe he could buy somewhere out in Mexico in case the heat on them got intense.

But before that he wanted a new target. Somewhere where they could do some proper damage. Not for financial gain, but just plain simple taking a human life. Multiple human lives. People who didn't deserve to be alive if JJ or Hayley weren't.

Somewhere like... a church. Such as the one conveniently located just eight blocks away from here. Hotch sat down and started circling points on the map. If they were going to commit a massacre there, he needed the team to do recon there to find when the busiest time was. Not necessarily Sunday... maybe the school had an after school activity centre on some days. They'd have to change up cars, possibly a few times afterwards. And they'd need a destination. Soon Hotch's head was filled with the comforting buzz of a thousand thoughts of mindless death.

He was faintly annoyed when someone knocked on the guest bedroom-turned-study's door before sliding it open. Then he saw it was Spencer.

"Hey, you."

"Hi," Spencer said back. "We're getting ready. To do the thing." And speaking of thing, Spencer was dressed remarkably normally. Aaron didn't think it suited him. Spencer was so many shades of extraordinary. Plus he had great legs which you couldn't fully appreciate in loose denim. His hair was gelled into submission, tied back at the nape of his neck. Some pieces not long enough to be caught had slid forward and framed his face. He was wearing the tiniest amount of make-up; some eyeliner, lip-gloss. He was wearing jeans and a red and white striped long-sleeved top under a blue bomber jacket. He looked like a normal kid in his mid-20's, albeit one with wacky fashion sense.

Hotch didn't appreciate the illusion but he understood the necessity of it for their mission. Since JJ had been taken from them, Reid had been serving as her replacement in terms of acting as a distraction.

Tonight, for example, it was Reid's job to approach the delivery man when he arrived at the empty house. Morgan had called ahead and ordered ten pizzas, three garlic bread, a couple of bottles of cola, to be delivered in forty minutes to a house with no porch light or visible movement as it turned dark. Still, it didn't matter even if there were people home. Reid would approach the young man as he walked towards the house and ask for help. At which point Morgan would walk up behind them and taser Delivery Boy. Garcia would drive the delivery car away to be found at some other much later time, Elle following in one of their own cars to give her a lift home after she'd dumped the delivery car. Strung up between Hotch and Morgan's shoulders the Delivery Boy would just look like a guy out on Friday night who'd started the party a little too early, especially after they'd thrown away his cap and put a jacket over his brightly logoed shirt. A gun to the ribs kept people docile as they walked them back to the house. This time there'd be a second car of theirs a block away to more easily transport the guy. Rossi would be absent due to his watching over Aunt Lillian and Emily Prentiss. It's when you're not watching over them that people tried to make a run for it.

"Where are you going?" Emily asked as they moved towards the front door. Hotch handed Morgan the checklist of supplies they'd need for the mission. 2 cars, jacket, taser, guns.

"We have a plan. A sort of ... initiation," Hotch described. Emily's eyes lit up.

"So you're considering my application?" she asked joyfully.

"Yes, but we still need to run some tests," Hotch added. "For suitability and compatibility, and such." Emily nodded seriously. "So when we get back, we'll have a live human being for you to torture to death."

Hotch had been expecting horror or fascination. He was taken aback by the naked eager lust on Emily's face at the thought of murdering someone.

"You'll teach me?" she asked. "I've never done this before. I'm sort of a virgin."

"We'll teach you," Rossi said, voice full of promises.

"Don't do anything until I get back, understand?" Hotch asked. Rossi nodded seriously.

"We should be back within 45 minutes, all goes well."

"Take your time. Have fun. Remember to bring the pizza."

…

…

"Ah," sighed Morgan blissfully. "Free pizza. Is there anything more heavenly?" He walked the delivery boy forward, someone who barely looked old enough to have their licence. He had cuffs around his wrists, put on him in the car, and went pliantly, submissive in his fear, as Morgan shoved him down onto the couch.

Hotch immediately looked around the room as he entered the house. Emily was tied exactly where they'd left her. Her lipstick was a bit smudged and her shirt was more wrinkled but she looked fine. In fact, she hadn't taken her eyes off of Delivery Boy from the moment Morgan walked him into the house.

"That went really well," noted Spencer as he walked inside after them, hands full with four of the pizzas. He set them down on the coffee table, near to where his book still rested, and went out to the car to get the rest of it, Rossi accompanying him.

Hotch meanwhile went to check on Aunt Lillian. She was slumped in her bonds, head resting awkwardly on her shoulder. She was asleep, unconscious or dead. Hotch didn't really care. At all. It was just, if she was dead, they'd have to do something with her body before she started stinking up the kitchen more than she already had. He grabbed some plates and glasses and took them back into the lounge where Reid was bringing in more boxes. Morgan was reassuring Delivery Boy whose eyes were wide with fear.

"It's fine," he was saying. "Just stay quiet and don't move too much, and you'll get out of this alive." Morgan stood up straight and turned to face Hotch as re-entered the room. "Eat now or wait for the girls?"

"I think we should wait for the girls," Hotch said. "It was a team effort, so we'll celebrate as a team."

Morgan sighed but nodded. "They better get here soon, then." Reid and Rossi re-entered, bringing the scent of garlic bread with them.

"When'll the girls get back?" asked Reid.

"Soon. Shouldn't be more than another twenty minutes."

"Aw. Twenty minutes? Come on, man!"

"We're waiting," Aaron declared. "I have a plan for Friday. And I don't want to have to repeat myself."

"Are you a prisoner too?" Delivery Boy asked Emily in a whisper, as if the four unbound men in the room weren't pausing their conversation to listen.

"No, I'm here for the party," Emily said sweetly, light glinting dangerously in her eyes.


End file.
